


this choreography of useless wishing

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon Asexual Character, Coerced Consent, Crying, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Unwilling Arousal, improvised bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: "Now," Peter continues, tugging firmly until Jon's chin is tilted up and his throat bared, "I can't lay all the blame at your feet. I have been neglecting the Archives, I'll admit. Perhaps now is a good time to improve our working relationship."The Archivist works his jaw, which must be sore - Peter can still see the imprint of his fingers on his cheek. "And what -" He cuts himself off this time. "That would depend," he says more carefully, "on what you had in mind."(This is a Bad Things Happen to Jonathan Sims story; heed the tags.)
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 20
Kudos: 202





	this choreography of useless wishing

He should have known better. Elias has been bragging for years about his new Archivist, how talented he is, how powerful, but Peter had been thinking of him in terms of Gertrude Robinson, who had been clever and dangerous but ultimately little more than human. Jonathan Sims is much more than that, and when Peter goes walking through the Archives wrapped in a Lonely fog the Archivist not only sees him but pulls him out of it with a burst of strength that Peter would never have expected. 

Peter can't help it; he laughs. Jon is glaring at him like he'll go for Peter's throat at a moment's notice but the fear is coming off him in waves, so thick in the air Peter can taste it, and it's delicious. "Elias was right," Peter tells him. "Very impressive."

The Archivist's eyes narrow. "What - "

That's as far as he gets before Peter has a hand clamped rough over his mouth and nose. He uses the grip to back the Archivist up against a filing cabinet, hemming him in with the bulk of his body when Jon twists awkwardly to avoid coming into close contact. "I did think he'd have taught you some manners, though," he says, as friendly as ever. "Or that you'd know better than to ask questions." Jon's still glaring at him with death in his eyes, but he gives a small nod, barely able to jerk his head under Peter's hand. "Lovely," Peter says, and shifts his grip to Jon's hair. 

"Now," he continues, tugging firmly until Jon's chin is tilted up and his throat bared, "I can't lay all the blame at your feet. I have been neglecting the Archives, I'll admit. Perhaps now is a good time to improve our working relationship."

The Archivist works his jaw, which must be sore - Peter can still see the imprint of his fingers on his cheek. "And what -" He cuts himself off this time. "That would depend," he says more carefully, "on what you had in mind."

Peter grins at him, leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to that long, lovely throat. At the sharp intake of breath above him, he sinks in his teeth, relishing the stifled noise the Archivist tries to hide. He gets himself under control after a moment, puts his hands on Peter's shoulders and shoves. He allows it, though he makes sure his teeth scrape across tender skin on his way.

"No," the Archivist says, his jaw set and his cheeks flushed appealingly.

"Now that's not very nice," Peter scolds, wrapping his fingers around the bite mark he's just left and digging in. "So rude, and here I am trying to be accommodating. Elias told me what a slut you can be under the right circumstances." Jon's eyes widen and he starts to protest, but before he can say anything Peter pushes two fingers between his lips. "No biting," he says firmly, punctuating it with a tug to Jon's hair. Peter shoves further in until he can pet the soft tissue at the back of Jon's throat, and the Archivist chokes and gags, struggling for control, then he sucks hard. Peter grins. "Now this is how it's going to go. Unless you tell me no, right now, I'm going to put you on your knees and use your pretty mouth until I'm satisfied you know your place. Of course," he adds, sliding his fingers halfway back on the Archivist's tongue and then all the way back in, "if you _do_ say no, I have a lovely assistant to tend to all my needs. So you needn't worry about me, regardless." 

Peter draws his fingers out of Jon's mouth with an obscene slick sound even as he tightens the other hand in his hair, tilting that proud chin back a few degrees more. The Archivist's lips are slick with his own saliva and his pupils are blown wide; he's panting for breath and glaring daggers at Peter, but he doesn't say anything.

"Lovely," Peter says. He puts the hand that's wet with Jon's spit on his shoulder and shoves him down hard. 

Jon's knees hit the floorboards with a crack but he doesn't wince, only leans back on his heels a little and gives Peter an inscrutable look. It's familiar, actually; he must have learned that one from Elias. It puts a fond smile on his face, and it makes him consider the possibilities. "Take off your shirt," he suggests as he unbuckles his belt.

The Archivist's lovely dark eyes narrow. "I hardly think that's necessary," he says, and, ready for it, Peter slaps him across the face.

It isn't a particularly hard strike, especially not for someone with the Archivist's resilience, but it wrenches his neck hard. The crack of it is loud in the small room and the cry Jon lets out, rough and low and not entirely of pain, is even louder. He jerks away, although there isn't quite enough room for him to get out of arm's reach, jaw set and body trembling with tension. His eyes are wide and the imprint of Peter's palm stands out red on his cheek. 

Peter grins down at him, leaving his trousers half-undone for the moment, because this is too delightful to miss. "Careful, Archivist," he says cheerfully, "your friends are just outside. Are you so eager for them to find out what their pet monster sounds like when he's begging to be used?" He's wrapped them up in the fringes of the Lonely, in fact – Peter has no interest in being interrupted – but the Archivist doesn't need to know that. The shudder that goes through his entire body has Peter licking his lips, the tinge of isolation and betrayal in the air adding something wonderful to the whole atmosphere. "Take off your shirt," he says again, and Jon hesitates but this time he does it.

When he's finished, half-folding his crumpled button-down and laying it on the floor beside him, wriggling out of his undershirt without being prompted, Peter hits him again. 

This time he manages to choke down the moan, which is almost nicer, but he glares up at Peter when he gets ahold of himself again. "Do you have to beat me while you do it?" he asks, sharp but without compulsion. 

"If you're going to make noises like that? Absolutely." Peter pulls out his cock, hard already from the lovely picture in front of him, and gives it a couple of good strokes. The Archivist must be figuring out by now that this is all about the humiliation of being half-naked while Peter is fully clothed and composed, because the dirty look he's giving Peter can't possibly be on account of his cock. It's a very nice cock, thick and rather handsome, as he's been told before. And right now he'd very much like to get it in Jon's mouth at last, but there's one more thing he's decided he wants and Peter is not accustomed to denying himself things that he wants. "Get your cock out. Don't make me ask twice."

The Archivist clearly thinks better of objecting – shame – and follows orders with a brisk efficiency, kneeling up and shoving his trousers and boxers low on his hips before settling back on his heels. He's hard, and that must be the thing he's ashamed of because he's blushing at last, turning a charming pink all down his throat and at the tips of his ears. 

"Oh, very nice," Peter says, because he really has nothing to be ashamed of. He's not as thick as Peter but he's long, and the way Jon's cock curves up against his belly makes Peter want to _touch_. He will have to do this again, he decides, just so he has a chance to indulge. Which isn't what this is about. "You've been holding out on us." 

He nudges Jon's cock with his foot, stroking up from the base of it with the soft leather of his shoe, and Jon's whole body jerks like he can't decide whether to move back or forward. His fingers are digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise, and that's much less appealing, because if the Archivist is going to walk away from this with bruises Peter wants them to be the ones that he left himself. He wasn't wearing a tie – Elias must be horrified – but the shirt will do. He picks up the discarded button-down and reaches around, pulling the Archivist's arms behind his back none too gently.

"What –" he says, ready to object, but he loses his voice when the knot tightens around his wrists. If he weren't leaned right in next to his head, Peter thinks he wouldn't have heard the little whine in the back of his throat. 

Peter straightens up again and surveys the picture he's made: the Archivist on his knees, flushed and angry, his hair rumpled from Peter's controlling grip and his cock red and straining against his soft belly. His chest rises and falls just a little too fast, his shoulders are wrenched back in an unforgiving angle, and still he doesn't protest, doesn't move away. It seems a waste to keep it all to himself. He retrieves the phone that Martin insists he carry, "for emergencies," although Martin has to know that it will never ring. 

The Archivist straightens up, anger flaring again, when the camera clicks. "How dare you –" he starts to object, and Peter takes hold of his hair again and shuts him up with his cock.

There's a moment of shock where Peter thinks he's going to have to make a point about teeth, and then the Archivist catches up and it's slick and smooth and hot and perfect. It's clear he has no real idea what he's doing, but Peter was fully prepared for that and he takes control of the Archivist's movement, fucking his face leisurely. He shoves in until Jon chokes on his cock, gives him a chance to heave a breath through his nose before pushing deep again, a little further each time. Peter sighs in pleasure when he finally pops the head of his cock into the Archivist's throat, the hot pressure of it almost as pleasurable as the knowledge of Elias's burning jealousy. 

Peter pulls at Jon's hair, tugging him off, letting him breathe and cough for a moment while Peter taps his cock on the side of his face. He's messy, saliva and tears and precum mingling on his sharp features, and he looks gorgeous. "Very nice," Peter says, because he believes in acknowledging a job well done, even if all the Archivist has had to do is sit there and take it. "Being on your knees really suits you, you know. I think maybe another photo –"

The Archivist scowls, lunges forward and swallows him down again, heedless of the hand still tight in his hair. It's clearly a distraction tactic but it's a good one, so Peter will allow it. And if he's going to be so eager, he might as well reap some reward for it. Peter steps forward, nudging his hips further into Jon's face and pressing one leg between his spread thighs. To Peter's delight, the Archivist starts to rub himself off against Peter's leg while struggling to take his cock, apparently without any real awareness of his own body's reactions.

It's a pretty enough image, this total loss of self-control, that Peter lets it go on until Jon begins to lose focus on the task at hand, going limp and shuddering against Peter's body, and then he yanks at the Archivist's hair again, pulling out and stepping away, not touching him at all. The Archivist is struggling to hold himself steady, shifting his knees wider to brace himself and gasping in deep breaths of air. His cock looks painfully hard, flushed and dripping everywhere, and he can't or won't raise his head to meet Peter's eyes. Utterly delightful. 

"Well?" Peter says, when Jon's recovered enough that now he's just hiding. "What do you say?" 

That earns him a glare. "Fuck off," he says, his voice low and rough with how he's been used, and he flinches a little at the sensation of speaking once again. 

Peter tsks gently, stepping forward to take the Archivist by the back of the neck and press his leg into his inner thigh, just too far out to offer any useful friction. Jon's hips buck once, then he grits his teeth and stills himself with an effort. "Very rude," Peter says, "when I've been so generous. I'll give you one more opportunity to ask nicely for what you want, or I get to decide what to do with you."

There isn't even a smidge of hesitation. "Go to hell." 

"Fair enough," Peter says, and the betrayed pleasure on the Archivist's face when Peter grinds his leg up into his cock, pushing him over the edge at last. He cries out helplessly when he comes, loud enough that Peter checks again that they're safely isolated. He's still shaking from his orgasm when Peter shifts his grip on the back of his neck and fucks into his mouth again, and the Archivist is relaxed and pliant and takes it just beautifully, long dark lashes lowered against his cheeks as he takes Peter's cock deep in his throat. 

Peter makes sure to pull out of the Archivist's throat before the end, coming into his mouth and onto his tongue, watching the combination of disgust and new information chase its way across the Archivist's face. Peter gives him a moment to collect himself while he sorts out his own trousers – almost definitely a total loss, although he has a dry cleaner who's worked wonders – then pulls Jon easily to his feet. He struggles, wrenching weakly against Peter's grip, but with his arms tied behind his back and his trousers around his knees, he can't do much to stop Peter from pushing him up against a filing cabinet and kissing him sweetly. 

He does, however, bite – hard enough to draw blood, but Peter's in a fine mood, and he only chuckles, holding the Archivist back with one hand gentle but unmoving against his throat. "Ungrateful little thing, aren't you?" he says, tonguing the mark on the inside of his lip. "Honestly. You know, that's Martin's favorite part."

The things the Archivist's face does then are spectacular; grief and anger and yearning all at once, and Peter basks for a moment in the pleasure of all that fear. Then anger takes over again, and Peter is gone, vanishing the rest of the way into the cold embrace of the Lonely before he can be tempted to rough up the Archivist just a little more. He's earned himself a stern lecture from Elias at the very least already, but he can't possibly say it wasn't worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell about TMA with me, I have too many feelings  
> [@j_quadrifrons](https://twitter.com/j_quadrifrons), [backofthebookshelf](https://backofthebookshelf.tumblr.com)


End file.
